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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24660100">Don’t listen to me fall apart</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety, Car Accident, M/M, Minor Character Death, Panic, Trauma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:27:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>915</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24660100</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Akaashi hates the zoo. It only reminds him of the moment everything was taken from him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Don’t listen to me fall apart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I don’t know if this is shit? I’ve never done anything like this before but I’m feeling bold</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>My dad used to love going to the zoo. It was his happy place.</p><p> When I was little he’d take me and my siblings there all the time. Though his favorite time to go was when it was raining. He’d zip my oldest sister into her coat first, then my brother, then my other sister, and then me. My dad would go from oldest to youngest handing us a hat and gloves and while the rest of my siblings were expected to put on their own, he always put mine on for me. It was probably because my chubby little hands hadn’t developed fine motor skills yet. I liked to think it was because I was his favorite. </p><p>We’d load into our van yelling out “check” when he asked if our seatbelts were fastened. I sat in the back with my big sister. She always held my hand on our way there. Our fingers loosely linked through gloves fingers.</p><p> I could remember my dad screaming at someone who cut him off. I had so many memories from our last time at the zoo but for some reason that was the clearest: my dad screaming and laying on the horn. It made all of us giggle. He turned back to us briefly and flashed us a smile. He giggled too.</p><p>My dad herded us towards the entrance. Along the way there was a raised bit of concrete that carved out the walkway from the parking lot. My siblings and I would always try to balance on it the whole way to the ticket booth. I never could, still too clumsy. </p><p>My brother was the only one who could that day; Our last trip to the zoo.</p><p>We ran from covered area to covered area at the beginning. We avoided the rain until it became pointless to do so. My sisters tore off each other’s hats and my dad jumped in a puddle with my brother on his shoulders. By the time we reached the komodo dragon exhibition we were absolutely soaked but my dad said that was the best way to be.</p><p>I can’t stand it these days. The rain just reminds me of him.</p><p>As we approached the tropical rainforest exhibits I couldn't contain my excitement. I remember running in front of my family to swing open the doors. They were weighted and I couldn't pull them open myself but my dad just  chuckled, i couldnt remember how it sounded, i just remember seeing his face light up. </p><p>With his help the doors opened and I ran inside.</p><p>The air was thick in a way you wouldn’t find anywhere else. At least not anywhere I’d been before. There was a warm weight surrounding you and the gentle sound of artificial rain. This was my favorite place in the world.</p><p>I’d wrote an essay about it just a week earlier in class. It had earned me a gold star.</p><p>Memories of that day, that perfect imperfect day at the zoo, come to me occasionally. I remember my sisters telling each other which animals they looked like, each one more and more insulting. I remember my brother staring at the orangutans like he had a personal vendetta against them. I remember trying to tie my wet shoelaces and having my dad tie them for me. I remember the warmth of the tropical rainforest. </p><p>There are parts I don't want to remember.</p><p>Those parts come to me anyway. </p><p>I remember hurting very badly. I don't remember the pain itself. I just remember my entire brain being consumed with pain. I remember my sister's hand was still in mine but it had gone limp. I remember seeing lots and lots of red. </p><p>The rain hadnt ceased as we made our way home. The heat was blasting in our car and we were singing along to Colors of the Wind. I saw the other car coming. Thought nothing of it as it kept driving. I didn't know it was supposed to stop.</p><p> I watched the entire time as the car came faster and faster towards our car. Towards my dad. </p><p>I can remember everything right before the collision with so much clarity that it is almost unbelievable. </p><p>I was the sole survivor. </p><p>The world faded in and out after that, for weeks the only thing that made sense was hearing my mothers voice as she sobbed. She would hold me tight ot her chest like she was afraid to let me go.</p><p>The reason for this fuzziness was technically head trauma. I had quite the concussion so for a long time I didn't do much thinking. Too busy cringing away from bright lights and loud noises. Turns out some of those things stayed long after i’d been cleared of my concussion.</p><p>I left the hospital for their funeral. I dont remember it.</p><p>We moved after that. I dont think my mom could stand seeing the presence of my dad and siblings anymore. They would stay in the picture frames on the walls and on the mantle. In the old house they were everywhere. The notches in a door frame marking my siblings heights, the scribbles my mom could never fully scrub off the walls, the furniture he’d picked out, the house we’d lived in. My mom needed them contained or else she’d burst.</p><p>So we packed our bags and moved far away from the zoo. Somewhere no one heard of the accident. A place that made us feel normal. </p><p> Seattle. </p>
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